Good Morning Sonnet

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A circumstance dependent upon timing,
shaken with the stars and thrown like dice
when rolled across the felt and realigning
reserve that’s calculated and precise.
Broken surface-ice above the flow,
cracks that spider-web along concrete,
a Leopard with no spotted place to go,
opposites of private and discrete.
Emotion surfaced in me like a sub,
breaking through the waves of discontent
that I had washed away with facial scrub,
abandoned on some foreign continent.
An earthquake would have given me more warning
than all the tremors since you said good morning.

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